One Week
by X-File Writer
Summary: *Part 2 is up!* Josh's week continues. "Well, I have learned a few things these past two days: Donna does not take my Lyman-power seriously, never tell her she doesn't know about football, and X-Files can cause problems..." (J/D; based on BNL song)
1. Cold Coffee and Angry Women

One Week

One Week

By: The Writer

Rating: PG

Category: Humor/Angst (there are moments of Romance); Josh/Donna, Donna/Cliff

Spoilers: Yes. This takes place in season three, after my other story "_Things About Him"_…but you don't have to have read it to read this. (The references to "_Things"_ are pretty vague.) This fic can also stand alone. 

Note: This fic is told from Josh's POV. I've written for Josh two other times, so I think I should have his character down fairly well. Also, this is a semi-song fic. The song is "_One Week_" by BNL, which doesn't belong to me. Lines from this song are woven throughout this story.

Part 1: _Cold Coffee and Angry Women_

* * *

This has been the longest week of my life. Don't get me wrong, when you work at the White House there is no such thing as a short week, but this one was _exceptionally_ long. And it's not just the reelection campaign… This week was—errm—c_omplicated_. It'll still be two days 'til we say we're sorry. 

Where should I start? Well, as I said, it all started one week ago. It was a Wednesday. I hate Wednesdays. By Wednesday 1) I'm already too sleep deprived to function without large quantities of caffeine. 2) My desk is coated in six to eight layers of papers and 3) all the last minute meetings that couldn't fit into Monday and Tuesday have made my Wednesday schedule so tight that my coffee ends up cold—which, I believe, inhibits the caffeine's ability to help my brain. Not to mention the fact that _two_ days still have to be survived before the weekend is reached. 

Anyway, the Wednesday of last week started off slower than usual. Now, when I say things started slow I don't mean that everybody in the West Wing was walking around like dying Energizer rabbits. As I walked briskly past the bullpen things sounded normal. Phones rang, interns violently clicked their mice—or maybe it's mouses, I'll have to ask my _assistant_ when we're on better speaking terms—and warm papers were snatched out of copy machines. 

When I say things started out slow, I mean that something was a little off about Donna. As I flipped on the light in my office and hung up my coat I realized that she hadn't even gotten up from her desk to banter with me. I tried to pretend this didn't bother me and sat down in my chair, positive that Donna would realize I was here and breeze into my office to tell me I was about to be late for my first meeting.

I gazed at the clock in the corner of my computer—which is surprisingly more accurate than the watch I wear—as the time slowly flickered by.

7:18:23 AM. No Donna.

I tugged at my tie and waited.

7:22:05 AM. No Donna.

I sighed and impatiently tapped my foot

7:28:58 AM. No Donna.

I used all of my willpower to restrain myself from leaping out of my chair and marching out to her desk.

7:31:21 AM. _Still_ no Donna.

At this precise moment I knew Leo was looking at his watching and getting ready to bellow for Margaret to get me on the phone.

7:32:03 AM. Perhaps Donna fell of the face of the earth, I thought.

In about 30 seconds my phone would be ringing.

7:32:33 AM.

My phone began to ring at the same exact moment Donna scuttled into my office. She tossed my schedule onto my desk, instead of reading it, like she usually does. She crossed her arms, sighed, and asked impatiently, "Aren't you going to answer that?"

"It's Margaret, telling me I'm late for a meeting with the senior staff."

Donna glared at me. If you've never had this woman glare at you let me say, it's not a look to be taken lightly. Though, I must also say, I was slightly offended to be the recipient of such a glare when I wasn't even sure why it was being directed at me. "Josh, if you _know_ you have a meeting, why aren't you there?"

I glanced down at the schedule she had flung onto my desk. It was written in her illegible handwriting instead of typed, like I prefer. I spoke matter-of-factly, "Something's wrong."

"What?"

"Something's off today…for one thing, you're late."

Donna looked at me, cocked her head to the side and said, "I'm angry."

I, though not a biggie on compassion, was going to take a swing at it. "Um…why?"

My assistant rolled her eyes. "Josh, I was on time…I was just still at my desk, okay? You better get going before Leo comes over here."

I, Josh Lyman, am never sidetracked. At least, never when I'm sober. "Was it Rocky? Did you realize that, thought he's a republican _and_ a lawyer, The Rock isn't perfect?"

I earned myself another glare. "_Cliff_, Josh, his name is _Cliff_. And yes…it was Cliff, okay? He had to cancel our third date…again."

The jerk. The fool. Couldn't this idiot see Donna is much too precious a woman to disappoint? Work shouldn't take precedence over her. Hell, _Cliffy_ should've been bringing her flowers and love poetry instead of calling off their date. 

Hey! Don't look at me like that. You're saying _I'm_ the idiot? I'm a Fulbright scholar! Lay off, okay? You haven't even heard half of my story. 

My phone suddenly stopped ringing and I glanced down at it. I knew I had three minutes and fifty-nine seconds—the approximate time it takes to get to my office—before Leo would be yelling in my ear.

I suppressed the things I wanted to tell her about her boyfriend and instead asked a fairly logical question, "What were you going to do?"

Donna raised an eyebrow, surprised by my inquiry. "On Friday night we were going to hang out at my place…order Chinese…watch television…"

__

Sure all they were going to do was watch T.V. I know it's only their third date…but _come on_ people. I decided to play along; "I can do that." 

Donna's eyebrows rose another three inches. She gasped, "_What?_"

This might've been a breach of boss/assistant protocol…but what the hell? "We could do that. You know, hang out, eat Chinese…"

My voice trailed off. She looked at me, threw her arms in the air and said, "You're crazy."

To a man who walks with a swagger…that hurt. Not that I'd e-mail my mother to tell her my twenty-seven-year-old assistant insulted me—but my pride was bruised, nonetheless. I thought offering to hang out was polite gesture—albeit, I did have some ulterior motives.

I feel like a fourteen-year-old at his first dance saying this…but I have discovered I have a _tad_ of a crush on Donna. I mean, she's young, sharp-witted, smart, and attractive. Don't misunderstand what I'm saying…I _do_ know I'm quite a bit older than she is and she would never look at me as a romantic prospect. 

I don't look at her and picture a one-night fling or a torrid affair that would have the bullpen buzzing. It's hard to explain what I see when I look at Donnatella Moss…an intangible prize, I guess. I know you may not realize I, Josh Lyman, would imagine anything is beyond my grasp…but I like to cushion my heart with reality.

My bruised pride must have registered on my face, because she looked at me, dropped her arms to her sides and said, "I'm sorry."

I opened my mouth to tell her to forget it, but Donna cut me off; "We could do that."

Let me tell you, that took me a bit by surprise. I repeated numbly, "We could do that?"

Donna gave me an uncertain smile. "Yeah, Josh. We could do that. We could hang out, eat Chinese, and watch T.V."

I wasn't sure if she was trying to convince herself or me that it was a good idea. I flashed a half-smile. "Yeah. We'll do that Friday. I'll come over around seven."

Donna nodded, still a little hesitant. She rubbed her forehead with her hand, as if trying to make sure her brain was working when she agreed to hang out with me. "Okay…"

I stood up and walked around my desk so I could see out of the doorway; I wondered how close Leo, or whomever he sent to retrieve me was getting. Donna took two steps backwards, as if coming in contact with me would give her the plague. My assistant winced as she backed into the doorframe, which, I must admit, can be quite a vicious piece of pointed wood. 

My hand instinctively brushed her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Donna blinked at my hand and then looked up at me. She observed our close proximity, blanched, and slid out through the doorway. "I'm fine, Josh. Perfectly fine."

Friday night is sure going to be interesting, I thought.

Just then I heard a familiar voice coming from the bullpen; "_Joshua!_ Joshua Lyman! Where the hell are you?"

I reeled around, hoping to escape through the other door in my office, but she had spotted me. I couldn't move. Her eyes shone with an anger-induced craze. I knew she wouldn't be satisfied until she gave me a good ego bashing. "Your ass was supposed to be in Leo's office ten minutes ago, thank you _very_ much! But, because you lack the ability to _ever_ be punctual, _I_ was sent to fetch you like a damn golden retriever!"

I stammered, "I was coming, but I-I—

"Had to calm Donna."

Why do the gods of the Sisterhood bless C.J. with this type of intuition and give me nil? Wait—don't answer that. "She was angry."

C.J. continued to glare.

"You're angry."

C.J. continued to glare. "You're a little slow on the uptake, Josh." 

I pulled at my collar. "Now she's not."

C.J. continued to glare. "Well, _whoop-ti-doo_."

I ventured, "Your coffee has been cold, hasn't it?"

She grabbed me roughly by the tie and began dragging me in the direction of Leo's office. "My coffee _was_ going to be warm, Josh, but _someone_—

I coughed as the Windsor knot on my tie began to tighten around my throat. "Okay, okay. I'll make it up to you."

C.J. smirked triumphantly. "Hell right you will."

* * *

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End of Part One

When I receive responses on this part, I will continue the story! Part two is titled "Don't Mulder with my Chinese Chicken_"._


	2. X-Files and Chinese Chicken

One Week 

One Week

By: The Writer

Rating: PG

Category: Humor/Angst/(some) Romance, J/D

Note: Thanks for the responses! I would've uploaded sooner, if I could've! Anyway, here's part two! Enjoy!

Spoilers: I guess this would just have spoilers through season 2 and through the episode, "Ways and Means"—but not for any of the episodes that air _after_ it. Does that make sense?

__

Part 2 

* * *

Thursday passed mostly without incident. When I say this, I don't necessarily mean it as a good thing. I hardly got to talk with Donna—my day was jam-packed with meetings and I think she might've been avoiding me. In fact, the only time we conversed for more than 2.89 seconds was, indirectly, due to my debt to C.J. 

C.J. had decided that, as the debtor, I, Josh Lyman, would have to bring her fresh coffee for a week. (I interpreted this to mean through Friday, betting on the hunch she'd forget by debt by six a.m., Monday morning.)

Anyway, I made a point of stopping by Donna's desk on my way to a meeting. Our conversation didn't go as well as I had hoped.

I leaned nonchalantly against my assistant's desk and spoke coolly. "Hey, Donna."

She glanced up and then continued to flip through papers. "Hi."

"What's up?"

Donna abruptly stood up and headed for the copy machine. I followed. "Nothing. We're fine."

Wait a minute—I was asking about her, not us! Wait! What, _us_? I chose to stick to my plan. "Donna—

She shoved a paper into the machine, slammed the top down, and pressed the copy button—all in one swift movement. "What do you want, Josh?"

"Co—

Her eyes focused on the light that came from the copy machine as it scanned the paper. "No."

"But I didn't even get to ask—

She ripped the freshly printed paper out of the tray and spun on her heel. "I know what you were going to say, so I just saved your over-worked vocal cords the extra effort."

I paused for a moment, letting her sarcastic remark soak in. I brushed it off. "But it's for C.J.—

Donna turned on me. Her eyes flashed as she gave me a look that made me realize I had made a grave error. "I can't believe you, Joshua Lyman! You expect us to be able to _hang out_, but yet you insist on treating me like a slave! If I won't bring _you_ coffee, why do you expect me to run it to someone else like an errand boy?"

Her tirade reminded me of the last fight we had. But her comments piqued my ego; my inner-Lyman threw back his shoulders and put down his foot; "I'm the boss, Donna, and I demand you to do this for me."

And she laughed.

Not just a light chuckle—I mean the serious kind that causes you to double over and have tears run down your cheeks. I just stood there, indignantly watching my assistant as she held onto my shoulder to keep herself from toppling into a laughing heap on the floor.

Donna slowly regained control of herself. In-between deep breaths she managed to mimic me; "_I'm_ the boss…" Gasp. Giggle. "I _demand_ it…" Then she burst into another laughing spell. (Some moments I honestly am in awe of this woman—this was not one of them.) 

I sighed and glanced at my watch. Even to _myself_ I sounded like a frustrated old suit, "Forget it Donna. Forget I ever said anything." 

She managed to straighten herself and nodded solemnly, though the sparkle in her eye told me there was a fat chance she would _ever_ forget. I could imagine that someday, when I am ninety—still witty and suave—and Donna is a striking seventy-seven-year-old, we will both be in a nursing home together and she'll come hobbling over to remind me of what happened this fated week.

I must now attribute my following actions solely to that enticing sparkle in Donna's blue eyes. I brushed a hair off of her face and said, "I never think of you as an errand boy, Donnatella."

My assistant's eyes widened and she licked her lips—her laughter was now forgotten. She looked about ready so say something, but a voice suddenly cut through the room, "Joshua Lyman! I haven't seen a drop of coffee all day and am _not_ happy!"

I glanced in C.J.'s direction, then looked back at Donna. "I have to—

She bent down, picking up the copy she had dropped. "Okay…"

I paused, rubbing my face for a moment, then turned to go appease the royally pissed off Press Secretary. 

* * * 

Friday night I flipped open my cell phone while on my way to Chuck's Chinese. I listened to the phone ring twice before she picked up, "Hello? Why aren't you here, yet, Josh?"

I turned on the blinker. "I still have to get the munchies."

She paused. "The, _what_?"

I sighed. "The Chinese, Donna, the Chinese."

"But you said 'the munchies'. I hope you know I graduated kindergarten several years ago, Josh."

I stopped at a red light and tapped the back of the phone impatiently. "Yes, I know that."

"Josh, please don't tell me using a word such as 'munchies' is your attempt to use slang that will bring you closer to the modern generation."

Hey! I had a memo that suggested it! "I—

"It's not going to work, Josh."

I pulled into the lot in front of Chuck's Chinese. "Fine, Donna. What do you want to eat?"

She paused. "Um…Beef fried rice."

"Okay. Hey, Donna, what's going to be on tonight? Any football?"

She snorted. "I don't know, Josh. I don't exactly have all the football schedules memorized."

I muttered, "Figures. You're a girl."

"_Excuse_ me, Josh?"

"I said, it figures, because you're a girl…I mean, woman." I still cannot recall why I said this. You have to refer to C.J.'s comment on how I can, at _rare_ moments, be a tad slow on the uptake. 

Donna was indignant. "I happen to know quite a lot about football, Josh!"

My gut told me to end this call as quickly as possible. "Okay. Bye." I turned off my cell before she—or I—could say anything else. I rubbed my eyes, got out of the car, and headed into Chuck's.

I am convinced that Chuck's Chinese is the best Chinese place in the whole D.C. area. You see, it is owned by a forty-eight-year-old guy named Chuck. Chuck—if you can't tell by his name—is not, in the least bit, Chinese. It seems a few years back Chuck had a mild mid-life crisis during which he lost his job as a lawyer, had his wife leave him, gained sixty pounds, and discovered a passion for cooking Chinese. Anyway, he's the best.

I stood by the counter as Chuck walked out from the back. The place was lacking customers, even though it was only seven thirty at night. I guess it could be considered a dump, but at least nobody here would remember that I, the Deputy Chief of Staff, had once been shot. 

I told him what I wanted. I ordered Chuck's specialty, Chinese Chicken. It's this shredded chicken that is soaked in this sauce of-- Hey! What do you mean I'm 'chasing the rabbit'? Come on! I thought you would be interested in… Oh, never mind.

While Chuck was ringing my order into the cash register, he muttered something that sounded like, "Chickity China, the Chinese Chicken. Have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin'."

"_What_?" I asked in shock. 

Chuck looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and the hair that was spared from his receding hairline was disheveled, but he looked sober and sane. And trust me…I know about these things.

I paid and waited fifteen minutes while Chuck got my order prepared. When it was ready I snatched the bag and floored it to Donna's—seeing that I was forty-five minutes late.

I dashed up the front steps of her apartment and was surprised that they didn't move, like they usually do when I'm drunk. I sprinted down the hallway and punched the elevator button—again, surprised that the floor wasn't tipping like it usually does. 

I finally made it to the second floor and stood in front of her door. I listened at the locks were undone and she pushed it open. But the next thing happened quickly. Suddenly, her arms were around my waist and her head was pushing into my chest. I wrapped my arm around her waist, thinking she was giving me a hug—that was a split-second before she knocked me right onto the ground. My back hit the wall and the bag of food fell from my hand.

I let go of Donna's waist and rubbed my back. My assistant straightened up and pushed blonde hair out of her face. She was flushed and had the nerve to flash a triumphant smile that would have made my legs weak—if I was standing, that is. "I told you I knew something about football. My brothers used to have me play with them—and I was pretty good."

Then it dawned on me why she had mauled me and the Chinese food. And let me tell you, it's been five days since she tackled me, I've still got the rug burns on both my knees. Well, to be more specific, the rug burns are actually on the backs of my knees… Oh don't roll your eyes at me! Where's the sympathy? Huh? _Huh?_

She grabbed the brown bag of food off of the floor and headed inside. I grumbled because she didn't even offer to help me stand up.

Her voice came from the depths of her apartment, "Come on, Joshua! Come inside. You're a big boy."

I whined quietly, "Some assistant you are."

Suddenly Donna was back in the doorway. She held a hand out to me. It was my turn to laugh at her and say, "You just did just what I thought you were gonna do."

She made a pouty face. "You're mean, Josh. You said that just to get me to come back out here, didn't you?"

Maybe I was a _tad_ bit mean.

Donna spun on her heel and walked back inside. I hauled myself to my feet and followed her, shutting the door behind me.

I was shocked by the darkness that surrounded me and I blinked in surprise, trying to see if I had suddenly gone blind. And then I could see them. There were candles all over the room. The curtains were drawn shut and none of the lamps were on. And I thought _Donna_ would be against the breach of boss/assistant protocol. My hand still rested on the doorknob and I wondered if I should back out.

Then Donna's hand grasped mine and she led me to the couch. She had already set the food out on an end table. She explained, "There's an X-File marathon on, Josh. The best way to watch the show is in the dark. But I lit some candles for you."

She lit candles for me? What am I, a two-year-old who's afraid of the dark? A few candles my ass. I could count at least fifty. I wondered if Donna was violating some sort of apartment fire code. I just hope too much smoke wouldn't seep under the door and alarm her neighbors.

I sat down on her couch and took my food when she passed it to me. We watched almost one whole episode in silence. At the very climax of the show, when this demon thing was attacking Scully, Donna tried to reach over and steal some of my chicken. But my reflexes were fast. My fork clashed against her chopsticks.

"Josh!" she whined. "Can't I just try a piece?"

I spoke diplomatically, "No. You have your food and I have mine."

She put her empty carton aside and muttered, "Fine."

The next episode that came on had a few gory scenes that caused Donna to keep my arm in a vice-like grip. I finally put my left arm around her shoulders and she rested her head on my shoulder. Then I felt her move the carton of Chinese Chicken I was holding in my other hand. I pulled it away.

Donna lifted her head to look up at me. She grumbled, "You should hang a sign around your neck saying, '_Caution! Man will not share food_'. Or, '_Don't Mulder with my Chinese Chicken_'."

I was about to give in and give her some food, but something she had said sounded strange. "What did you say?"

"I said you should wear a sign that says '_Don't Mess with my Chinese Chicken'_."

"No, no. I distinctly heard you say 'Mulder'; '_Don't Mulder with My Chinese Chicken_'."

Donna sat up straight. "I did not. I said '_mess_'."

I smirked. "Donna, do you have a thing for a television character?"

She crossed her arms. "I do _not_ have a _thing_ for Mulder."

I tried to prove my point. "See! You used the name 'Mulder' like he was a real person."

Donna turned to face me. "Just shut up, Josh." She paused and then spoke matter-of-factly, "If _I_ have a thing for Mulder, then _you_ must have a thing for Scully."

I laughed. "Yeah, right. I don't go for redheads."

"Then what color hair _do_ you go for, Josh?" she asked.

I know a trick question when I hear one. I was trying to use my verbal skills and come up with a good answer, but Donna was ready with another sticky question, "We have a lot in common with Mulder and Scully, don't we?"

Hmm… Well, Mulder lost a sister and so did I… But that's about where the similarities end. Aliens have never abducted me, as far as I know. There was that time I was drunk and I thought that—never mind. Donna's not a scientist. We don't think the government is evil. But, I guess Donna and I can be a bit like partners… And we have a similar tension between us, like they have on the show… 

I decided to play it cool and I looked back at the T.V. "I hope the Smoking Man's in this one."

Donna looked hurt. "Josh! This is important." She used the remote to turn of the power. The room darkened as the television flicked off. "Do you care about me, Josh?"

I spoke quickly, "Of course I do, Donna."

"No, Josh. I mean, _care_. Like how Mulder cares for Scully."

Boy, this girl watches too much of the tube. I tried to pull at my tie, until I realized I had already taken it off in the car. I had a claustrophobic feeling. "I—I—

Donna surprised me yet again. She laughed at me, saying, "Get that together, come back and see me."

I realized that was my cue to go. I nodded, stood, and gathered up our trash. I left my Chinese Chicken on her counter—I didn't feel like eating it, anyway. I slipped into my coat. "Night, Donna."

"Good night, Josh," she said from the couch.

I paused, wanting to say something more. I nodded, again, and left. As I walked through a light rain to get into my car, I knew that there wasn't any way that I could wait until Monday to see her again. Today, I wonder what life would've been like if I had.

* * *

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End of Part 2

Note: Wow. It got a little dramatic at the end of that one! Sorry! I promise the next one won't be! I can't tell you the name of the next part, because it would give something away. So, give me responses and I will give you more to read! Thanks.


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